I'm dreaming.

And in fact, I am depressed.

Venting.

The truth is, when you left I lost everything. I convinced myself that I was independent when the fact is, my heart was dependent on the drugs you were giving me. One more dose, please? I prescribed myself three times in hopes that I could go numb, but I ran away before I could finally stop feeling. The shelves in this liquor store seem so pleasing, maybe these bottles will give me some meaning. I can’t see the world anymore. I can’t feel anymore. I can’t sleep anymore. I’m just coping. We sat in the parking lot, we had the best conversation. We were moving on from our problems. We were finished hating. Hope was throbbing in my chest. I asked you to think but you just left. One more kiss before I go? I should have held my breath. Depression runs rampant in my head. You departed so quickly and painlessly, and that was the most painful part for me. Show me some feeling for once, just once. I would have done anything. I walk past you daily. Part of me wants to grab you and scream, “Why are you doing this to me?!”, but I’m too scared to show you that I am weak, that I can’t even speak when you’re around without losing my composure and feet. A simple suggestion turn into nonfiction. A temporary leave turned into a permanent defeat.

I hope you die with your regrets clenching in around your neck.

If I just left, nobody would give two fucks.